


Torture of Small Talk

by sstensland



Series: with someone you used to love [1]
Category: Crash Pad (2017), Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of Suicide, kylux adjacent, not really happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 13:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sstensland/pseuds/sstensland
Summary: Joining the military hadn't been what Clyde had expected, but coming home had been worse. Years after losing everything, he runs into the last person he expects.





	Torture of Small Talk

The soft sounds of John Denver filled the small bar; gentle enough to not be overbearing, but loud enough to allow Clyde to focus on it in between orders, humming along as he wiped down glasses. Monday nights were easy. Pleasant, even. He didn't have to worry about the shenanigans or the hooligans that came around on the weekends and caused all sorts of trouble. Clyde didn't feel wound up from anxiety, or stressed by all the scenarios that played in his head. No. Monday nights were good. 

He poured another beer for Earl, who chugged it in one go before excusing himself for another cigarette. Clyde shook his head; some people would never change, he reckoned. He liked that about Earl. He was steady, predictable – never failed to stick with his routine. (He wished that would apply to everyone – to himself, to family... to lovers.) 

Clyde liked his routines. They kept him on his feet. Kept the noises in his head at bay. Kept him _stable_. 

(He didn't need another break down. Didn't need another toxic addiction. Didn't need fall into the broken path his life was leading. 

The accident had been just that. He had never meant... He didn't want to end his life. Despite everything that had happened, after everything he had _seen_ and _done_ , he didn't want to end it. Not really. There was something here, he thought. There was something here for him even if he didn't see it right away. He knew it was there, lingering somewhere just out of reach. He just needed to try a little harder. 

But the tunneling... he had lost control. Lost sight. His foot pressed down on the gas pedal, propelling him faster and faster and faster until it was too late.) 

He woke up in the mornings. He took his medicine under Jimmy's careful eye. He'd shower and get dressed and go to work. He'd go home and go to sleep. And repeat. 

Simple. Steady. Responsible. 

Clyde Logan wasn't broken or damaged. 

He picked up another glass, carefully setting it into the crook of his arm before using his (real) hand to wipe the glass. His eyes watched a new group of younger men. (A change from the routine, but he could handle this... New customers, it was reasonable. Plenty of folks just passed by in their busy lives. This... he could handle this.) They sat at a table in a far corner, where the waitress, Melissa, greeted them happily. 

(For a second, just the smallest second, he had thought he had seen... but no. It couldn't have been. It had been years. Years and years where Clyde had heard nothing from an old flame. Years since he had wondered what he had done wrong. Wondered what he had said. Wondered what had happened to the love of his life.) 

He swallowed on a dry throat as his eyes catch Jimmy's, giving him a short, curt nod. A sign that he was _fine_. (He was.) That seemed to satisfy Jimmy, who gave him a responding nod before returning to his beer. 

And the night is was fine. Nothing out of place aside from a few of those visitors. Soon, he could close up, go home, shower, sleep, repeat. 

Just another day. 

The sound of shattered glass caught his attention first. Immediately, his head moved towards the sound. He found two of the men, outsiders, where huddled in the corner, voices raising. Clyde’s heart jumped in his chest, pumping through his veins. His eyes narrowed as he ignored the pounding in his chest. The voices grew louder — profanities, slurs — and he knew he had to do something. His eyes met Jimmy’s again, those eyebrows raised in a silent question — asking if Clyde needs help, if he should intervene — but Clyde shook his head. He could hand this; of course he could. This was nothing compared to the fights he would see on Friday night. Nothing compared to things he’d seen in Iraq. 

He stepped out from behind the bar, taking a deep breath. Repeated to himself that he could do this. He stepped forward, ignoring his self-doubt, ignoring his racing heart, ignoring his desire to flee. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he started as he stepped behind them, “Is there a problem here?” 

“None at all,” one of them said, turning his attention towards Clyde, “Just this faggot here getting too touchy with my friend.” 

His heart sunk in his chest, but he kept his face passive. 

(It had been years since he acted on urges. Since he had indulged in his sexuality. Part from not having the urge to date or fuck after coming home from the war. Part from having his heart broken by a boy he would never see again. 

It would be a secret that Clyde would take to his grave. He’d be alone until the day he died at this rate, but he couldn’t find himself being bothered by this. He had accepted his fate when he stopped receiving the letters. When he was stranded, alone, overseas, without a word from the one person who had owned his heart.) 

He looked down at the man on the floor. Long, skinny arms covered over his face as he pleaded to not be hit, that he was too fragile. Clyde felt his heart stop for a moment, but… no, it couldn’t be. 

He gulps. 

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we don’t approve of that behavior here. I’m only gonna ask you this once; either leave this boy alone, or you can take your business elsewhere.” 

One of the men stepped closer to him, sizing him up. “Are you one of them, too? Is this little faggot your boyfriend?” 

And there it was again. The fire. The burning. The embers slowly coming to life. Shimmering. Waiting. 

“I said—” 

“Gentlemen, I believe it’s time you leave.” 

Jimmy. Clyde looked over at him. Watched him as he grabbed both the men by their shirts and dragged them out of the bar. He would thank him later, begrudgingly. He could have done this by himself. Maybe. Eventually. 

He looked back down at the sniffling figure on the ground. 

(He doesn’t think about his hair matches that of his old lover’s. That the accent… the accent... ) 

“You okay down there?” he managed to get out, his thumb runs over the horseshoe ring. 

(An old gift he hasn’t let himself think of in years. A gift for luck. For remembrance.) 

And then, all the chatter in the room died down and everything faded away. All he could hear was the erratic beating of his heart as the stranger — it had to be a stranger — lifted his head. 

Those green eyes triggered every memory that he had tried to squash down these last few years. All the ones he had almost succeeded in ridding himself of. 

But— no. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. 

Someone had to be playing a cruel joke on him. 

He just stared down at the man on the ground, too stunned to do anything. And the ginger man stared right back at him, mouth opening as he kept attempting to form words— words that Clyde was sure he had completely forgotten what they were. 

Finally, he blinked. 

“Cl-Clyde?” he squeaked out, full of surprise. 

No. No, no, no. No. 

(He couldn’t be…This… this wasn’t real. This was just his imagination playing tricks on him. 

And Clyde was supposed to be better now. He was supposed to be over this. He had clocked in so many hours with his therapist trying to get over this, over the war, over the twisted story his life had become. 

He couldn’t be affected by this anymore. He was better… right?) 

He gulps. “Stensland?” 

It sounds foreign on his tongue; thick and heavy. 

(But Stensland was long gone. He was nothing more than an ash pile of memories in the back of Clyde’s mind, off doing bigger and better things outside of West Virginia because that’s what he deserved. He was long gone, and Clyde… 

Or maybe, Stensland had been there all along, lurking around in the shadows, just out of reach, waiting to be found.) 

Clyde felt like he was staring at a ghost. A ghost that was staring right back at him (At his hand; it’s always his hand ever since he came back from the war with plastic rather than flesh. Self consciously, he angled it behind him, hiding it. Out of sight, out of mind.) And he looked no different. Still all limbs and wild eyes and messy hair. 

Stensland kept staring at him, and Clyde had to keep reminding himself he was over this. That he was over a pretty boy with his wild stories to last a lifetime. Over the idea of his face lighting up whenever he saw him. Over the memories of those long summer nights at the lake, staring up at the stars. 

But, he was over this, never expecting to see Stensland again. 

And now, here he was. 

(Clyde just wanted to wrap him up in his arms. Wanted to hold him close and never let go. Wanted to ask him a million questions — of where he was, what happened, why he never wrote — but he’s frozen in his spot.) 

Stensland chuckled, short, nervous, humorless. He moved to stand, only fumbling once. Clyde resisted the urge to help him, like he would have all those years ago. (He can’t.) 

“I… I didn’t know you worked here.” 

“I reckon you wouldn’t.” 

He watched as Stensland bit his lip. Watched as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. 

What was he supposed to do? No self help book or therapist session prepared him for this. He would rather go back to the battlefield — at least that was something he knew. 

When Stensland looked back at him — those green, green eyes so full of surprise and confusion and determination — the cracks in the fortress he had placed around himself started to crack. Reminding him that he was still broken. That he was still in love with Stensland — a love that never left. That he shouldn’t fall into that all over again. Not after — 

“I was hoping you were still around here.” 

Clyde blinked. “Were you?” 

His shoulder were tense. He was wound up again; different this time. A new sort of tension that he didn’t know if it was better or worse. The dull ache settled in his gut, thrived off the pain pulsing in his chest. 

It was worse, he decided, swallowing down on a dry throat. So, so much worse. At least he knew how to manage everything. Had experience in that department. Had mentally prepared himself for every other scenario outside of seeing an old lover. Had never even occurred to him that he would ever see Stensland again. 

And the worst part was, he couldn’t even talk about it because no one knew. Maybe they’ve all had their hunches, but he hadn’t told anyone outside of his therapist. Not even Mellie or Jimmy. Their crude jokes involving his (secret) sexuality always kept him shy from telling them, afraid of what would happen, what they would say. He couldn’t lose the only thing that had kept his two feet on his planet. 

He stared at Stensland, feeling more and more like trapped prey with each passing second. 

Clyde should leave. There was work to be done, a job to maintain, people to serve. He had a million other things to do other than gawk at the sudden reappearance of Stensland. 

“I thought you were dead,” Clyde said, barely listening to the words coming out of his mouth. “You stopped writing. No one knew were you’d gone.” 

Stensland stayed quiet for far too long. 

Clyde can hear the ticking start; even, steady. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“I know.” Stensland couldn’t even look at him. Maybe it was a sign he should be the smart one and walk away. (He should.) “There was — I just — Can we talk somewhere? Privately?” 

Clyde shouldn’t. He shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t. He couldn’t walk down this line again. Couldn’t fall for that pretty face all over again. The damage had already been done, and all those repairs were just starting to show their worth. 

(Clyde Logan, the proud military man, turned war hero when he arrived home missing his hand. Rumors spread across the town about how it had happen: torture, suicide bomber, protecting someone. He never bothered telling them truth. They would just be disappointed. 

So, instead, he became the recluse, holing himself away, while the talk of the town turned him into a nutjob, fearing him and what he would do. 

Four years later, and they were all just starting to talk to him like he was a normal person again.) 

But those eyes begged him, pleaded with him. Desperate. 

Clyde had always been the weak one. 

Taking a deep breath, absently playing with the ring again, he told himself no. Told himself that this won’t end well. Told himself — 

“I get off at twelve,” he said, despite his inner voice, “if you’re still around, maybe.” 

It took a second before Stensland nodded, slow, sad. 

And he walked away, like it was nothing. 

(It had always been nothing.) 

And Clyde didn’t let himself think about it. Didn’t notice when Stensland looked back at him or at the sad look still lingering in his eyes. 

He caught Jimmy’s eye from across the room, curious, but he shook his head and returned to the bar. If he was right, Stensland would be long gone by the time he got out. He had never liked bars anyway. That was what he had always told him. Too loud, too impersonal. 

But yet, here he was, in the early evening hours, apparently getting involved in bar fights now. Maybe Clyde wasn’t the only one that had changed over the years. 

Letting go of the idea, he tried not to think about it for the rest of his shift. Just focused on the customers. Focused on his _job_. On his _routine_. He refused to let his eyes stray around the room too often, not looking for the familiar glint of red hair, ignoring Jimmy’s unspoken questions. 

Now was not the time. Not when his mind was a mess and he’s off his game, almost breaking three glasses while pouring beer. 

Twelve felt like a blessing when it finally came around. A chance to breathe and get some fresh air. He could got home and — no, he couldn’t. Maybe. 

With a quick glance around the bar, he doesn’t see Stensland. Just the regular crew that comes around on Monday’s— one of the Bang brothers sitting in the corner, talking with some girl, Earl heading out for another cigarette, Jimmy sitting at the bar still, watching him. 

Was it relief or disappointment that he feels? 

He didn’t know. Tried to not let himself care. It didn’t matter. 

Clyde grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, ready to take the pills he was given to sleep and turn off for the rest of the night. He’d wake up in the morning and the routine would go back to normal. Stensland would have just been a dream and nothing more. 

Maybe if he pinched himself now, he’d wake up. He’d stop his heart from hurting. Stop his mind from overanalyzing every little detail of every little fucking thing. He won’t fall back into the old routines. (Bad habits.) Won’t allow himself to damage himself all over again. Won’t — 

“Clyde?” 

He jumped at the voice, turning to his attention to the source, half expecting to see Earl in the usual chair, smoking a cigarette just outside the door. It wasn’t; he knew that as soon as he heard the voice. 

Stensland stood, uncertainty in his posture, hands awkwardly clamping together, before letting go and grabbing at his wrist, like he didn’t know what to do. Clyde should keep moving. Nothing good was going to come from this, after all, and he didn’t need to deal with another heartbreak. 

“Can we— I just — I know what I did was awful, and I would understand if you don’t want to talk to me. I really wouldn’t blame you. I don’t think I would want to talk to me either, but, please, just let me explain.” 

Clyde knew it was too late — they’d never mend themselves, but — 

“Let’s walk.” 

Stensland stood shocked for a second, before he nodded his head. “Yeah, okay. Walking— Walking’s good.” 

(Clyde thought that Stensland was about to grab for his hand; just the slight twitch of his arm moving forward before his fist clenched and he pulled back. It was nothing. Just a figment of his imagination. 

It still wasn’t too late for Stensland to be a figment of his imagination.) 

Then, Clyde lead them away from the bar, away from the busybodies on the other side of the door. From any ears that could overhear them. He’d been the talk of the town once already; he didn’t need to go through that again. 

“You look good, by the way,” Stensland started as he followed. “You’ve gotten… broader. Though, I guess the military will do that to you.” A nervous chuckle. “You’ve grown your hair out, too. It looks good; I like it. I—” he paused, and Clyde ignored the way his heart beat faster. “You’ve got… You have a new arm. It’s cool. Kind of makes you look like one of those cyborgs from —” 

“Stensland,” Clyde cut him off, closing his eyes, “can you just, be quiet for two seconds?” 

He stared after him, his movements pausing from the shock, but he nods, pulling his lips into a tight line as if he was truly afraid to talk. 

(This was a mistake. A huge, enormous mistake that he would regret come morning. A regret that he already started having as soon as they stepped out of the bar. A mistake that kept growing bigger as they moved across the parking lot. 

All Clyde can think about are the summer nights after high school when they’d sneak around downtown. When they would leave Boone County for the day and be themselves — holding hands out in the street, sharing small kisses outside of the shadows. His heart clenched. 

He missed those days. Missed the days before the war, before graduation, before everything had gone to hell. Everything had been easier. He could have — ) 

“Why are you here?” He asked as they reached his car. Quickly, he looked around them to make sure no one was near them. 

And, again, Stensland was quiet for far too long, and Clyde couldn’t help but thinking that all of this was pointless. He was just wasting his time and his energy for the brief satisfaction of knowledge he wasn’t sure he really wanted. 

“I. I needed to see you— find you. Whatever.” Stensland stared down at his feet. “I came here, hoping you’d still be here, because I wanted to apologize.” 

“It’s been six years.” 

Every second of the silence that followed felt like an eternity, but, really, what more harm could really come from them when Clyde’s been trying to get over the years of radio silence? 

“Fuck, I know. There was just— I couldn’t—” he groaned, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

(Rubbed at the spot just above where Clyde knew his neck was sensitive. Where, he knew, if he pressed his lips there, scrapped his teeth, Stensland would be putty in his hands.) 

“Can you just get on with this?” 

And there it was again, the ticking, the fire that allowed him to ignore the hurt look blooming over Stensland’s face. 

Tick. 

He took a breath. “Clyde, I really, really, really am sorry. I just— I wanted to get ahold of you, but you know how things get.” 

“Right,” he said sharper than he intended. He shook his head. “Leaving me hangin’ for six years is completely reasonable, then.” 

“I didn’t know how—” 

“You knew exactly where I was.” 

Tick. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, exasperated. “I really didn’t want to— I just—” 

“If you wanted to break up, you coulda just told me.” 

Stensland’s hands flew up at his sides. “That’s not it at all! I swear, I never did.” 

“Then what the _fuck_?” 

And the anger was back. Blooming. Flourishing. 

Tick. Tick. 

He should go before something bad happened. Before he did something that he regretted. Before he wound up hurt again. 

But his feet remained firmly planted on the ground, watching as Stensland fumbled for his words. 

“Clyde, I—” Stensland started, finally looking at him. (And was that water rimming his eyes?) “You know me, You know I would never abandon you.” 

“That’s what I had thought.” 

“It was out of my control! You know how my mom is— She gets all these crazy ideas,and she wanted to move out to the west coast. I was still living with her and had no job. So, what choice did I have?” He kept his gaze on Clyde, as if he was waiting for some response to just come up empty handed. When he didn’t get a response, he continued, “I… I tried to write to you. To tell you. I— I was scared of what would happen. That you wouldn’t ever come out this way. That I would never see you again. That maybe I would never get a letter back at all.” 

Tick. 

“I can’t imagine how that would have felt,” Clyde resorted, venom tainting his words. 

Tick. 

(Six years, and this was what he got: a lame excuse and a dragged out apology. Six years of wondering what he had done wrong. Of what he had said wrong. Of wondering if Stensland had just gotten tired of waiting around for him. 

Six years, and every moment just felt wasted.) 

“Clyde—” 

He shook his head. “Forget it, Stensland.” 

The fire burned. The ticking got louder. His therapist would be so disappointed in him; all that progress had gone to waste. 

“I have to go,” he said as he turned away. He grabbed for the handle of the door when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He tensed. (He was wound up so tight and needed to let loose.) “Stensland, don’t.” 

The touch burned with each second that Stensland didn’t move away. Clyde snapped his eyes shut, gripping the car door tight. He shrugged the hand off as his heart shattered. 

He can’t. 

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” he said as he started to get into the car. 

“Cly—” 

“Just go back home.” 

He shut the car door and didn’t look back. 

He went home. Showered. Stared at the pills in his medicine cabinet before letting it swing shut. 

Tick. 

He laid in bed. Counted the cracks in the ceiling paint, the ones so reminiscent of the ones in his mind and heart. 

Tick. 

He didn’t think of Stensland. Couldn’t afford to. 

(All he could do was think of Stensland and his wide smiles and soft skin and all the years he had wasted away.) 

* * *

Clyde didn’t see Stensland the next day. 

Or the next. 

Or the next. 

He told himself it was a good thing, because, well, it was. He told Stensland to leave, and he listened. (It was about time he started.) 

And things were fine. Dandy. He fell back into his routine: wake, eat, work, sleep, repeat. 

(And maybe he changed his schedule, just a tad, just in case.) 

He sighed, content, as Mellie shampooed his hair; her nails scratching against his scalp and providing him with the only real feeling of content he had had in the last five days. She talked, about something, though, he was hardly paying attention. She was always talking during all the hair appointments, whether he decided to talk back or not. He just assumed she was going on about some of her customers, again, about how they’ve been trying to lowball her on the wages and tips again; that was her topic of last time. 

However, when he lifted his head, her unamused expression told him a different story. 

“So, we ain’t talkin’ about it?” she asked ‘as she lead Clyde back to the chair. 

“Ain’t talkin’ about what?” he asked, avoiding her gaze in the mirror. 

“You know what.” 

Clyde sighed. Winced when he felt Mellie tug a bit too aggressively at a knot in his hair. So, she knew. It shouldn’t have surprised Clyde as much as it did. Jimmy must have surely told her by now, or maybe even Stensland had talked to her if… if he had been so desperate to find him. 

(Maybe he was thinking of this all wrong. Maybe he ought to give Stensland a better chance, but… Stensland had left him. Had left him when he had no one else— Jimmy had been off getting married and having a baby, Mellie was going to school and dating whatever boys gave her the right attention. And Clyde had been left alone, again. The forgotten child, again. Not good enough, again.) 

Mellie didn’t say anything for a while. Just combed through his hair before trimming off the dead ends of his hair. He can feel her still watching him through the glass. Her gaze steady, intense, expecting things that she should know she wouldn’t get out of him. Eventually, she sighed. 

“You doin’ okay?” she asked with her tone softening. 

“Yeah.” Clyde wasn’t even convinced by his answer. 

“Jimmy said you’re lockin’ yourself away again.” 

“He’s lyin,” he (mostly) fibbed, “Just been tired is all.” 

“You taking those pills that doctor gave you?” 

“Haven’t needed ‘em.” 

(He was scared to take them. Scared to form another habit, another addiction. He didn’t… he didn’t want another accident. He didn’t trust himself. Hasn’t trusted himself in a long while.) 

“Clyde.” Her voice was stern, impatient. “You need to take care of yourself.” 

“I am.” 

Tick. 

“If you say so,” she said, unconvinced. “I’m just tryin’ to look out for you, y’know.” 

“I know,” he sighed, “I’m fine. I swear.” 

“Okay.” Her fingers combed through his hair, setting his part right before trimming a few layers in. She didn’t bring it up again, letting him sit in silence as she finished the hair cut. That was something he had always appreciated about Mellie. She knew when to back off. Knew better than Jimmy did. Sometimes Jimmy thought it best to push Clyde past the edge. (Sometimes, it was the best, but he… he had never appreciated it. Never thought it would do him any good.) 

Mellie rubbed some product into his hair. Dried his hair. Didn’t try to bring up the past again. (Understood his boundaries.) 

“There,” she said as she took the cape off of him, 

(And, he looked the same. Nothing’s different— Mellie wouldn’t do that to him, but there’s something off. The bags under his eyes looked darker, deeper. His eyes darker than they’ve been. He could still see the few nicks from his morning shave; red specks of imperfections, a sign perhaps. 

He was still the same old Clyde. He had to be.) 

He thanked her. Made some promise to call if he needed anything. (“Really, anything, Clyde.”) Went home. Ignored the discontentment that plagued through his system. It was nothing; should have been nothing. 

He picked up his phone, once, ready to dial a number that didn’t belong to the right person. 

He slammed the phone on the table and walked away. 

* * *

Clyde should still be glad as he continues to not see Stensland, but that annoying feeling in his gut hasn’t left since he’s first seen him after all these years, like something had been woken from a deep slumber. He did his best to ignore it. To not let it dictate his life. 

He was better, he had to remind himself. He didn’t need to dwell on the past. 

Didn’t need his siblings watching like a hawk either, but, that didn’t stop them any. He ran on autopilot, like he had done before. Less foggy this time, and more determined. Falling into familiar patterns weren’t part of the plan. (They hadn’t been in the beginning either, but Clyde didn’t want to go back down that path. _Couldn’t_ go back down that path.) 

Jimmy invited him out to lunch one day. Dragged him, really. Clyde hadn’t remembered making plans. (He swore he would have; he wasn’t that bad again. Not yet.) 

He stayed quiet, unusually so, as he picked at the fries on his plate. Jimmy only managed to grab his attention when he set his fork down with a louder than necessary clank of his fork. 

“You and Stens,” he starts after a long while, “you were more than friends, weren't you?” 

Clyde froze. Stared down at his food, suddenly lost of his already small appetite. 

“I ain’t stupid, you know. I remember what you two were like.” 

And here Clyde thought they had done a good job at hiding it. Served him right for being so naive, so stupid. 

“You haven’t been the same since you saw him.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Clyde said, stubborn as ever. 

“You don’t do well when you don’t, Clyde.” 

Leaning back against his seat, Clyde sighed. He had been doing good. Had felt like he had gotten back to normal, almost, maybe. He would have gotten there, eventually, if he could have just blocked all of this out. If everyone would just, let him move on. (If he’d let himself move on.) 

“He’s been calling. Askin’ about you.” 

“Whatcha tell him?” 

“Nothin’. I saw you fighting. Figured you didn’t want him knowin’.” 

Clyde pushed his food around his plate. He didn’t— he should thank Jimmy for that. If Stensland really knew how he was doing… well… it wouldn’t have changed anything. Clyde’s heart would still be crumbling apart, one little piece at a time. 

(This was his curse— not his hand, no; that was just an inconvenience. No, his curse took a different toll: the perpetual breaking of his heart, the constant reminders, the flood of memories that came rushing back at the sight of red hair. 

That was his curse.) 

“I don’t know what happened,” Jimmy continued, “I don’t wanna know, but I know you haven’t been the same, and… I don’t think it was just all from the war. Lot of it, yeah, but, there was something else, wasn’t there?” 

“I— I need to go,” Clyde announced, abruptly, standing from the table as he made some fool’s attempt to calm his heart. 

“Clyde, don’t—” 

“Don’t what?” he snapped, unintentionally. 

“Just… Try to talk to him. I’m sick of him callin’ every night.” 

He hesitated, just briefly, slowly turning his head to look at Jimmy. Stensland was calling on him? Did… did that… maybe Stensland did still care, if he was. Maybe he did feel bad, guilty, in his selfish decision. Maybe that had meant that Stensland was still in Boone County, hiding in the shadows until it was safe to come out. Until… 

Clyde considered. 

There could have still been a chance, however small. Did he want to risk getting his hopes up? Did he want to think that there was a chance to make amends? 

No. There was no repairing this. The damage had been done, settled in. Permanently damaged, gone to ruin, like an abandoned house. 

He sighed. Maybe he could still talk, and not let his emotions ride over him. (It wouldn’t have been the first time he had shut his emotions off.) And closure, he reminded himself, he could get closure from all of this to help him settle and move on. To forget about Stensland and those pretty green eyes. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

* * *

Two days later, he had an address. 

Two days later, he was running off of three cumulative hours of sleep. 

Two days later, he was parked outside of the Motel 6. 

He breathed, just the way his therapist taught him. This would be the closure he needed, he reminded himself, to let go, to move on. This would be a new turning point in his life. A breaking of a curse, or so he hoped. 

Before getting out of the car, he checked his reflection in the rearview. Attempted to fix up his hair before realizing how ridiculous he was being; stupid, foolish — at least that much hadn’t changed. 

He made his way to room 135 with his heart pounding the whole length of the hallway. He stood in front of the door. Closed his eyes. Breathed. 

What if Stensland wasn’t here? 

What if he had went out to go do something? 

What if he was in there with someone else? 

He shook his head. No, he wouldn’t have agreed to do this. Unless, of course, he had forgotten… 

No. 

Clyde cursed at himself. This whole damned thing was ridiculous. After all, what did it matter if Stensland was with someone? They weren’t getting back together. (Though, the possibility had kept Clyde up for far too long; he knew better. He knew that they… they couldn’t just go back to what they were that easily.) 

With a deep breath, he knocked on the door. Three sharp, evenly spaced knocked. 

And he waited. 

A beat passed. And then two. And that worry that had been festering in the back of Clyde’s mind started to manifest again. Just faintly, he can hear the shuffling noises coming from the room. 

He had just started to think that he had made a mistake — had gotten it the wrong day or something — when the door flew open. 

And then, Stensland is there. 

(And he was alone, judging by the empty room behind him. Unless, of course, he was hiding someone in the bathroom or closet…) 

He blinked the idea away. 

It didn’t matter; never did. Stensland was free to love anyone he wanted. Just like Clyde had been… though, Clyde never had. No one had been enough, had gotten him the way that Stensland had. (Or, perhaps, his expectations were too high. He didn’t want to just settle with anyone when he'd had the best thing he could have ever gotten.) 

“Clyde, hi.” He looked in Clyde’s direction, just over his shoulder, not at him. “I, thank you for coming. I— come in.” 

Was Clyde making the right decision? He still had every opportunity to leave; it wasn’t too late. He could put all this past him. He could go back to his mundane life. He could — 

He took that one deciding step forward, crossing into the motel room. This was where his life was going to change, wasn’t it? His breathes are shaky as he entered into the room. As he heard Stensland shut the door behind them. 

(They should have met somewhere public. It would have … It would have been easier. Wouldn’t have reminded him of all the times they would sneak away for a weekend that summer after graduation. Wouldn’t have reminded him of their first time together, in a room much like this, quiet, gentle. Wouldn’t have reminded him of everything he had lost.) 

“Look,” Stensland started. “I know I fucked up. I fucked up royally, _I know_. I was— I didn’t— “ He shook his head, taking a seat on the bed. “A few months after you left, we moved to Seattle. I kept starting to write to you, to tell you, but…” 

He trailed off. Looked down at the floor as he messed with his hair. “Everything just… sort of collapsed. Mom died. I lost my job and was homeless for months. I was afraid to tell you all this, but I also couldn’t _not_ tell you.” 

Clyde stared at him, watching him as he fumbled with his fingers. He leaned back against the desk, keeping his distance from Stensland. 

When he didn’t say anything, Stensland continued, “I didn’t want you thinking that I was a disappointment.” He laughed at the words, short and shallow. “I guess I didn’t help myself much, did I?” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

Stensland sighed. “I. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I have no good reason. I was lost and selfish and afraid. And then… then, it had just gotten to the point where it was so long that… I don’t know. I was… I guess I was afraid that I’d get a letter back saying you died or something.” 

“I should of,” he stated, “when I lost my hand. I should have died that day, I think, but I didn’t. I thought… I thought maybe.” He looked down at the ring. At the horseshoe just barely glistening in the light— the reminder he had never let himself take off, his token of good luck. He didn’t know what he thought anymore. “We Logans ain’t ever been that lucky.” 

“From what I’ve heard, you’re the only one that survived. That sounds pretty lucky to me.” 

“Don’t feel like it.” 

He still hadn’t looked at Stensland. Hadn’t seen the flicker of concern cross his features. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“How would you know?” 

Tick. 

“Because that doesn’t sound like the Clyde Logan I know.” 

Clyde scoffed. “Maybe he’s gone.” 

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

Clyde’s eyes snapped up, finally looking at Stensland. He blinked. “What happened to _me_? I was overseas for three years, waitin’ for you to write me back. I wrote to you every damn day and I got nothin’ back. No one knew a thing. I spent my days tryin’ to survive, thinkin’ — 

“You were all I had, Stens. I got home, after everythin’, and were you just gone. I needed you more than I had ever had, and where the hell were you?” 

Stensland stared at him, eyebrows coming together. “Didn’t I just tell you where I was? I moved, Clyde. I didn’t know when or if you were going to come back and — “ 

“You didn’t bother findin’ out!” 

“I couldn’t have stayed! I wasn’t about to shack up with Jimmy or Mellie.” 

“All you had to do was write! Just one letter. That was all I needed.” 

Maybe then, things wouldn’t have been so hard. Maybe then… maybe then he could have gotten over this. Maybe he could have moved on. Maybe the depression wouldn't have hit him so hard. 

“Sorry I lost everything and couldn't just drop everything for you! At least you still have a family that fucking cares about you!” 

“Yeah, right. They’ve all been too busy with their own lives to worry about me.” 

“No, they’ve always dropped everything for you when you asked, Clyde.” 

Clyde shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Of course Stensland wouldn’t understand. How could he? He had never been the shadow trailing behind his popular older brother, hadn’t been the accidental child to parents who wouldn’t afford it. 

“This ain’t about them.” His fingers gripped at his arm. “You had six goddamn years.” 

“You don’t think I don’t know that?” His voice cracked, growing louder. “You don’t think I didn’t think about you every fucking day.” 

“Sure didn’t seem that way.” 

“Clyde, I’m sorry for leaving, but you… you said we couldn’t…” 

He stared. Clyde had blocked that whole night out. That one of them out in the backyard of Stensland’s place, cuddled on a blanket. They had watched the stares, waiting for any meteors that might pass by. One of the last nights before Clyde was to head off again. 

They talked, in hushed voices, about the future. Stensland had wanted more. Wanted more than Clyde could have offered him… but he… 

“I was changin’ my mind.” 

(Maybe if he had said yes that night. Maybe if he had thrown caution to the wind. Maybe if he hadn’t been scared. He could have given the world to Stensland. Could have cherished him that way he deserved. Could have flaunted Stensland around. 

Could have. Would have. Should have.) 

“You’ve never changed your mind about a thing in your whole life.” 

“I woulda,” he said, quietly, “For you.” 

Stensland sighed. “I knew coming here was a mistake. I should have never listened to Lyle—” 

“Who’s Lyle?” 

“He’s my, uh, best friend.” 

Just like he didn’t matter anymore. Stensland had just as easily replaced him like everyone else. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Not really. Clyde shouldn’t have been surprised. 

(Clyde probably would have replaced himself too.) 

“Oh,” he says, like he doesn’t care. (He shouldn’t.) Like it doesn’t matter at all. (It shouldn’t.) 

“He convinced me to come. Told me that it would do me some good. That if I could get closure on this, then, maybe…” 

Right. Closure. That was what all of this was about. 

(It was what he has to remind himself of, pushing away memories. 

It was what his therapist told him he needed. To just let it go. It was what she had been trying to help him with for years with no progress. 

It was what he needed. For the better.) 

“Then, you can move on,” Clyde finished for him. 

Stensland stared at him, not saying a word. The silence grew heavy, stale. Stagnant. 

And then, finally, Stensland nodded. 

And Clyde refused to let his heart break. 

(He couldn’t. The fragile pieces were barely together already; if it broke now, it may never come back. 

But that didn’t stop the shatter from weighing him down, from stopping his breath in his throat.) 

He forced himself to look away. Reminded himself that’s a good thing. 

Now, he could move on himself. 

“I never stopped loving you, y’know.” 

Stensland smiled, just barely. A small twitch of the corners of his lips. “I know.” 

A buzz filled his ears as another silence settled around them. Free of the ticking. Free of the tension. 

White noise. 

A calm break in the storm. 

He looked down at the floor. His shoulder slumped. 

“There weren’t any chance of us…” 

“We both fucked up.” 

“Right.” 

Clyde nodded his head. Once. His body numb. His mind numb. He knew this; it was no surprise. 

In his ears: the gentle buzz, an extinguished fuse, the sound of his unnaturally even breaths. 

(First love… wasn’t there some saying about first love? How it’s the hardest? How it hurts the worst? 

But, now, he felt nothing. No pain. No shock. No nothing.) 

A part of Clyde still wanted to be angry. Wanted to yell and scream. 

(Stensland hadn’t tried. Hadn’t bothered to write or call. Hadn’t considered that he had been sitting and waiting and wishing and wondering.) 

He wanted to cry. Wanted to cry every single last tear that he hadn’t let himself shed since he returned home. Wanted to claim defeat and curl up and just let it all out. 

(He won’t.) 

He wished he never came here at all. 

“So, where does that leave us?” he asked, still staring at the ground. 

And he could feel it again. Him shutting down again. Like he had all those years ago. Every thought and feeling drained from him. 

(This wasn’t good coping. This wasn’t _good_. But he can’t… Couldn’t think of those wasted years. Couldn’t think of those summer nights when it was just the two of them. Couldn’t think of those whispered words and sweet nothings. Couldn’t think of how he had felt.) 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Stensland said after a while, voice just barely a whisper in the air. 

Clyde looked at him then. Stensland looked defeated, almost, sitting there on the bed with his hands clamped between his knees. He fought the urge to reach out to him. To scoop him up in his arms and hold him close. What would it matter? This… closure; it was what he needed, but he hadn’t expected it to be like this. 

(He wanted to feel something. Anything. 

It was strange. This feeling of just existing. Floating. Drifting.) 

He let out a breath as he stood straight. “I guess that’s that then.” 

“Yeah. I guess so.” Stensland bit at his lip. 

Clyde nodded, short and sweet, a simple dip of his head. He reminded himself that this closure was what he needed. Reminded himself that, despite everything, this would be a good thing in the end. 

(A chance to move on. A chance to stop lingering on old feelings. A chance to start a new life.) 

He took a deep breath. His eyes focused on the wall just behind Stensland. 

All these years, and now, he knew that Stensland was still alive. He was alive, and, assumingly well. (And he hadn’t bothered… no. He wasn’t going to think about it anymore. He won’t.) He could settle now, perhaps. Maybe he could go back home, and talk to Jimmy or Mellie about all the things that he had never told them. He could risk it all. Maybe. 

Clyde started to step away from the desk, towards the door. He still felt light. Weightless. (He didn’t like it. Didn’t know if he should trust it. It felt too much like a warning.) He bit his lip and went to grab for the door handle, turning back to look at Stensland. 

“I guess this is goodbye, then,” he said, afraid of the words. 

A beat. “Clyde, wait.” 

He watched as Stensland stood from the bed and walked, uncertain, towards him. And then, Stensland was standing in front of him. So close— too close. Clyde’s heart stopped in his chest; his limbs locking him in place. Those green eyes watched him, examined him. A touch on his arm shocked his system, kick started his system. 

“Be good to yourself, okay?” 

The touch on his arm wof the warmth that was taking over his body. One wrong move and they could end up in another complicated situation. 

He should leave. Should have left long ago. 

“I— yeah.” 

Stensland’s smile was sad, small, and Clyde couldn’t let himself look. He was so close to being… free? Alone? He didn’t… he didn’t know. Unease was beginning to settle in his gut the longer he stayed in this room and he… he had to leave. He needed to get out of here and forget about Stensland. He needed to… no, not drink or lock himself away. He’d call someone up because he couldn’t trusted to be alone right now, but he also didn’t think he could handle being with his family either. 

He was lost. So, so terribly lost. 

Clyde opened his mouth to say something, but felt the soft warmth of lips against his cheek. (So dangerously close to his. If he just moved ever so slightly, he could be kissing those lips again. Tasting them. Cherishing every glide and nip and—) 

“Thank you. For coming,” Stensland said as he pulled back. “It’ll be better this way. I think.” He nodded as if to reassure himself. “We can both be happy now.” 

Clyde nodded. He was still unsure. but he could pretend. He tried to give Stensland a small smile, but it felt too weak, too tired, too small. Like he didn’t even bother at all. 

“Maybe I’ll see you around again one day.” 

He doubted it. He never planned on seeing Stensland again. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, despite his thoughts. Despite everything. 

“Goodbye, Clyde.” 

And that was it. All the years of waiting and self-tormenting thoughts… just like that, it didn’t matter anymore. (Shouldn’t matter anymore.) 

He tried to smile again. Tried and failed as he looked over at his ex-love and tried to not focus on the calm chaos that filled him. His fingers gripped at the doorknob before he turned it. 

“‘Bye Stensland.” 

And then he was gone. 

And Stensland was gone. 

And Clyde was walking back down the hallway again. Different, but the same. 

His hand fisted at his side, clenching and unclenching as if trying to grasp onto some imaginary rope to keep him grounded, sane. Clyde Logan truly was the unluckiest Logan of all, and this would just go to prove them all. He got no lucky breaks like he was just the ultimate punching bag for the family curse. 

He shook his head as he got back into the car. No. He wouldn’t think that way. 

He would grow from this, sure. He wouldn’t turn back to the bottle or go lock himself away. No. He shouldn’t. (He wanted to, just to see if it would make him feel _something_ , but he won’t.) He would go out and do something. He might still owe Earl and the boys a game of poker, from years and years ago. It might have been too late for that now, but his mind settled on it. 

A distraction. A good distraction to keep himself going down that dark tunnel again. 

Because he would move on, what choice did he have? 

With this new resolution, he put the car in drive. He pulled out of the motel parking lot and drove in the steady silence until he reached Earl’s shop. And, as predictable as ever, Earl was sitting out front with his cigarette in hand. 

“Car problems?” he asked as Clyde made his way over to him. 

He shook his head. “Nah. Wonderin’ if you’re still up for that game of poker?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this while it was still a twitter fic. (I prob wouldnt have finished this without yall.) And I'm sorry I never finished this on there, but here it is! 
> 
> Also thanks to darthkylorevan for being the best and reading this over for me 💕


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